When Beckett and Her Boys Slept
by ninabambina
Summary: The detectives have all been sent home. Quiet has settled over the precinct. Only the captain remains. Early Season 5.


**A/N: The story takes place before 5x04; Castle/Beckett are still keeping their relationship a secret.  
**

**For ilovetoread09. Happy belated birthday!**

* * *

Peace had settled over the precinct. The desks were empty, the computers shut down, the lights turned off.

The murder board in the bull pen may have told a different story: covered in notes and pictures and theories, but no leads to be had.

The current case had come to a stand-still and the detectives were already running ragged. The captain had sent everyone home to come back fresh. No doubt some might turn to a bar rather than a bed. It was a difficult case, trying to everyone. Not just that it had been all hands on deck for the past 48 hours with most refusing breaks, but because the victim was a child. A picture of the brown-haired girl, Patricia, had served as motivation. It was almost haunting to see her sweet smile, light freckles, her eyes shining bright, only to remember where she had ended. Strangled on a playground, crumpled under the swings.

The only sounds heard on the homicide floor were the stutter of the A/C unit starting, the hum of the coffee machine cooling down, and the glide of the pen filling out paperwork. Captain Victoria Gates was still hard at work, writing by the yellow lamplight spilling over her desk. As much as Detective Beckett and her boys complained about paperwork (_did they really think she couldn't hear them?_), it was her entire job. That, and dealing with the messes made internally and publicity-wise.

Bureaucracy. The bane of her existence, but her bread and butter.

She hears the muffled _ding_ of the elevator car arriving on the floor. Must be the night janitor. She flips the page in time with the slow slide of the elevator doors. She can hear the light shuffle of shoes over the hardwood flooring. She readjusts her glasses, tries to refocus on the paperwork at hand. But part of her won't concentrate. Something seems off.

There is no sound of the janitor's cart with the squeaky wheel. Just the wheels of a chair pulling away from its desk.

The scratch of pen on paper halts. Gates strains her ears. The wheels in the bullpen roll again and drawers start opening and closing with sliding squeaks and silent thuds.

Gates rises from her desk and peers out the window of her office. Her furrowed brow of consternation deepens in frustration when she sees who it is.

She sits down again to pull her heels back on. She straightens out the paperwork on her desk and returns the pen to its holder, using the moment of monotonous action to gather herself. She must remain in control. "Count to ten, Victoria. Count to ten." She lets out a breath, steeling herself. When finished, she rises from her seat and strides quietly to the doorway. She leans out and calls out to him with full authority.

"Mr. Castle."

The man jumps from his hunched position over the desk, looking shocked. Gates sees the moment he registers who caught him; fear flickers in his eyes. Good.

"Sir."

"I sent everyone home. What are you doing here?"

"Uh…" he looks down at the files in front of him, "I had to – the case. I couldn't just – ", his shoulders drop in defeat; there is no way to defend himself or explain his feelings. To Gates, of all people.

The captain looks to the murder board. The victim's picture rests in the center. A smiling Patricia. She looks nothing like Alexis. Gates doesn't understand why the case is hitting him so –

Oh. It could be the girl's green eyes.

Her gaze returns to the man sitting behind the desk. He looks nervous, like a child waiting for punishment. And tired; dark circles under his eyes giving it away.

She lets out a sigh and walks over to the desk. She can feel her armor melting, softening. It could be due to the forlorn writer in front of her. But she'll blame it on the late hour.

She approaches the desk. He continues to absentmindedly shuffle through the open files.

"The best you can do for this little girl is to go home and rest, recharge, come back in fresh."

"I had a theory and I couldn't let it go and – "

"Why didn't you share your thought with Detective Beckett? You're not under my employ. Technically you're not supposed to be here. Not even in the day."

He seems absentminded. "She's sleeping and I didn't want to wake her – " Castle catches himself and starts rambling to cover, " – I mean, I assume she's sleeping. After being awake for two days. I wouldn't know. She would be at her apartment… I assume."

Gates studies him for a second; her lips quirk almost imperceptibly. "As long as you left a note, Mr. Castle."

He gapes at her, but Gates doesn't notice as she sits down in the writer's usual chair.

"Let me see what you have."

He fumbles, but quickly recovers, starts grabbing various files. "Uh – I was thinking that maybe it has to do with the parents." He picks up a manila folder.

"How do you mean?" She leans in to look at the pictures he pulls out of the folder.

"Well, I got the idea when I was talking to Alexis – she came over for a late night conversation – you know, college students don't sleep much –"

"Mr. Castle. Your point."

"Right. Anyways, she had told me about a lecture she had sat in on. It was about heredity –"

Gates brought the picture closer. "They look remarkably similar…"

"Yeah, that's my point." He gets into story teller mode. "You see, when the Dresdens first walked in here, you could see everyone's heads turning. Gorgeous power couple – makes sense to glance. But there's something off. And people stare, because these two look eerily alike. Obviously there's the phenomenon of couples looking the same as time goes on, so most pass it off. Also, it would be kind of rude to bring up… And then – " Castle reaches over and grabs a copy of Patricia's picture, hands it to Gates. "- you have their darling daughter who is the _spitting_ image of her mother. It's almost scary."

The captain glances over her glasses at him. "What are you trying to get at?"

"What if … they're related? In an illegal sense?" He holds his breath. It's one thing to share a theory with Beckett and the boys, but this is Gates. She already doesn't like him. He's probably giving her more reason not to.

She takes off her glasses and looks at him incredulously. "Mr. Castle, that is a serious assumption and what on earth does that have to do with a little girl's death?"

"Hear me out, hear me out!" He rushes to wake up Beckett's computer. "Maybe some fanatic found out about their 'sinful, incestuous' ways and decided to do something about it? Originally we thought the message on Patricia's stomach had to do with her mom." He types in Beckett's password easily and breezes through the programs to open up a search.

Gates's brow furrows slightly.

Castle looks over, sees her annoyance. "Oh, um.. I've been here for five years. I'd be worried if I _didn't_ know how to get into her computer. My job's in the details, you know… And Ryan showed me how to look people up – well, not really. I watched him…"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Get on with it."

He grabs the picture copies of the crime scene and the body to pass to Gates.

"Mr. Castle, I'm well aware of the case details." She pushes his hand and the pictures back down to the desk. She doesn't want to look at the visuals anymore. He understands.

"As you know, 'devil's spawn' is carved into her stomach. Our working theory two days ago was that the message had to do with the mother's past as a prostitute, that an old john or some other crazy person was going after her. But maybe instead it refers to the Dresdens' relations?"

"Do you even have proof of this? This is all speculation."

"Well, yeah… but that's how I come up with my theories. It makes a pretty good story."

"But do you have a good _suspect_? This is a murder investigation, not story-time."

"Well, you build a story, then profile a suspect, then find someone who fits the bill. And I really think I have something with the incest story. We just have to make sure they're siblings – so we'll look for hospital records – and ask them if anyone knew of and disapproved of their relationship enough to kill their daughter. I really do think incest is the answer here. The professor Alexis mentioned was apparently really passionate about it. Almost vehement, according to her… I'm not really sure what his credentials are though…" He turns to the computer and types the man's name into the system.

"This isn't Google search, Mr. Castle!"

"Whoa…"

Gates rests her glasses back on her nose, leaning in. "You have got to be joking…"

Castle leans in further towards the screen to read. "This guy's received two complaints for harassing the Dresdens, but no formal charges were ever pressed."

"Why wouldn't the Dresdens mention him? He should have been the first person we checked out."

"Who knows… But we're definitely going to look into this guy, right? My theory is totally plausible now, right?" His voice is picking up pace. He needs the affirmation. He needs to be right.

"It appears to be."

He could feel his whole body thrumming in excitement and fatigue. And relief. Relief that he found the killer, that Beckett can rest, that everyone can stop being on edge, that the parents can maybe have some peace. He looks to Gates. He has to share his sleep-deprived joy with someone. But happiness is not written across her face or in her posture.

She stares off into the middle ground. "One case solved, but another will be in soon. You can celebrate a victory, but you just won a battle. The war never ends."

Her voice sounds like it imparts wisdom, but her words sound… depressing. Resigned. He studies his captain, quiet understanding dawning on him. Maybe this is why she was such a hard-ass. She's weary of the world. The glass is half empty.

She didn't just see murderers. She used to work in Internal Affairs; she saw when the good guys went bad. That could disillusion any person. Yet she still retained the faintest flame of hope that justice could be served in this world. Water still sits in the glass.

Gates leans back in the chair. "I'll send some uniforms to watch the apartment. Beckett and her team can bring him in for questioning at a decent hour."

Castle looks at the clock. "Oh, wow. It's late." He glances at his watch to confirm. 4am.

Gates smirks and rises from the chair. "As for you, Mr. Castle, I suggest you return home before anyone in particular worries about your whereabouts."

He starts to gather up the files in a hurry at her words. "Right, of course." He pulls on his jacket and finds her eyes studying him carefully. "Thank you for listening to me."

She nods. "Detective Beckett might not be wrong about you."

This was as close to a compliment as he would ever receive from Gates. He'll take it.

"But I don't want to see you here for the rest of the day. Stay at home, take a break."

"Don't worry," his eyes crinkle, "I'll make sure you don't see me."

She lightly glares at him. Still intimidating, but not her worst.

Castle bobs his head in farewell. "Until tomorrow, Sir."

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Castle."

He paces to the elevator with a bounce in his step.

Maybe it's because he may have just solved the case of the green-eyed little girl. The captain has no doubt he's thinking of the detective with the bright green eyes sleeping in his bed.

They thought they were so careful. Gates used to work in Internal Affairs. She knows. Sure it's a different skill set, but she's also not blind.

Gates returns to her office, surveys her desk. The paperwork can wait until the sun is up. She packs everything and prepares to leave.

She strides to the elevator, flicking off lights on her way out and musing about the day. She has to go to 1PP tomorrow so she won't be around to police the writer, who will undoubtedly show up. She has to admit that Castle is not the worst liability to the precinct. For all his trouble, he does pull his own weight. But no need to tell him that. His ego is healthy enough.

Gates presses the button for the ground floor and leans against the back wall. She lets out a long breath. Oh, she's tired. Her mind drifts to her own bed and her husband in it. She might get two hours of sleep with him before he has to prepare for his own job. She closes her eyes in rest.

The elevator doors slide shut. All is dark, all is calm. The A/C unit hums, the coffee machine waits. And for a few brief hours peace settles over the homicide floor of the 12th precinct.

* * *

**A/N2: The title is a play on words of the novel "When Christ and His Saints Slept" by Sharon Kay Penman.  
**

**_Thoughts, crises, concerns?_**


End file.
